A Sky More Full of Lawsuits than Miracles
by Cannibalistic Skittles
Summary: Jupiter Jones, first recurrence of Lady Seraphi Abrasax, attempts to navigate the intricacies of cultures, laws, & expectations she's only just become aware of, seek out potential allies & introduce her family to her strange second life, sort out a muddled inheritance, & attempt to understand the long-dead woman she's meant to take after. It goes a little better than expected.
1. A moment of peace

Forget the subway; there's nothing quite like crossing the city in the arms of your winged, part-dog, sort-of-boyfriend.

"You can let go of me, now, I'm _fine_."

She's laughing as she says it, though, legs swinging back and forth in the air, and even the worried line of his mouth has softened to something a little fonder.

So, okay, she clipped the side of a skyscraper in her excitement, and _maybe_ it switched off one of her boots, and _maybe _she spiraled a little bit, but she was _fine_. How's she ever going to learn how to handle it in a tight spot if she's not allowed to flounder a little?

But it's nice being held, and in a way, nice to be fussed over, too.

"Okay," she says, "okay, okay, really; I've got this." She kicks her feet a little, with both gravboots engaged. "See? Handled."

Caine huffs softly, and it's probably meant to be an annoyed sound, but his eyes start to squint a little with a smile, and she knows she's got him.

So he lets go – right as they approach a skyscraper's edge. There isn't any particular building they seem to favor over the other, but this general area has become, unofficially, theirs.

The view is beautiful at night.

Just because she can, she executes a few spins before plunking down on the edge.

"Are you nervous?"

And now they're not talking about hoverboots anymore.

"—a little."

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear in lieu of meeting his eyes and, well, it _is _windy enough to need it. He places a hand on her arm – gentle, so gentle – to draw her attention anyway.

"You shouldn't be. If anyone can handle it, you can." He offers a smile, tentative but trusting, and nudges her arm lightly with his own.

"Tracking down the right notices to file isn't my idea of a courageous stand," she says, but she leans into the motion anyway.

"You've faced him on his terms; now you're seeing him on yours," he says, but there's an edge of something like worry in his voice, and Jupiter is reminded of what Captain Tsing said, back on Orous. Bureaucracy seems the greater of the evils she faces, now.

Despite all her efforts, despite what she's been through, besides all the proof, there's the possibility that Titus will end up none the worse for wear.

But… she meant what she'd said. Everything since the clinic is new and startling, but with Caine here, she feels she can take on just about anything. She _has_ taken on more than she ever though she would, already.

"You're sure you're alright going alone?"

A nod. The instructions had been _very _specific about the sort of 'entourage' she was permitted to bring, and though _she_ might hold him in high regards, space bureaucrats apparently don't see it that way. Knowing he'll be there _after_ is enough for her.

"Right," she says. "All I've gotta do is out-maneuver the third heir to millennia-old dynasty in court. Easy."


	2. Chapter 2

Jupiter's never actually been inside a courtroom on Earth before, but she thinks it's safe to say that they're nothing like _this_.

Mixed with the familiar chatter of human voices is the occasional trill of birdsong, or hisses, or trumpeting or growling or purring from the splices, or maybe even full non-humans, headed for one of the many transport beams lining the walls like glorified elevators.

An insectile splice works at her post with both pairs of arms, pale chitin clicking as she types.

There's something secretarial in the no-nonsense set of the splice's shoulders. Jupiter imagines a pair of half-moon glasses set on the tip of that narrow nose, but the thought feels at once absurd and vaguely demoralizing.

Every time she finds something she thinks is _similar enough _to equate to home, it just ends up making the difference more pronounced. Like Earth, but not.

Floating walkways, glowing paths, interactive _everything_, and crowds of people moving in delicate patterns around each other, at every moment seeming like they've learned this half-dance from birth.

Even the ride up to this floor set her on edge. What is it, the seventh? Eighth? It could be the twentieth or the fifty-second, for all she knows; an android guide pointed her in the direction of the tube, and it spat her out here

The splice looks in Jupiter's direction and tilts her head, slotting a tapered finger behind her ear.

The eye contact lasts a good half-minute or so, long enough for Jupiter to wonder if she's expected to say something.

"Um-"

But the splice holds up another finger, and only speaks when her other hand is lowered.

"They're ready for you now, your majesty." Reedy and sharp, her voice carries easily, cutting through the distant murmur.

A hand – one of the upper sets – gestures to the large double-doors directly behind her, and then her attention is fully on the screen before her again.

"Thanks," Jupiter says anyway, and tries not to feel a twinge of self-consciousness when this earns her a curious look.

There's a lot to learn, and not for the first time, Jupiter wishes she was allowed more than just the crash courses in laws and Entitled history and courtroom etiquette she's had, just to ensure that a trial could even be _discussed_.

She still feels woefully under-prepared, and the history, the cultures, her own personal expectations - so much is lost on her, and it's frustrating how much she's missing out on. She can just feel how much is there, ready to be learned if she's willing.

If she wasn't swept up in this game of political intrigue between over-entitled and _definitely_ immoral immortals.

The doors open at her touch, thankfully.

Jupiter holds her head high and walks as though she's got a right to be here, following the smooth path to the center of the room. And she does, more than the man currently looking smugly at her from his own podium.

Titus is, of course, already settled in. She gets the impression that's he's never early for anything of his own volition, so the punctuality may be for her benefit. To show her up, more like, or to seem like he's playing nice.

She's following the laws; he's the one that broke them, and yet here he is, looking every bit as natural at his position as the overseeing splice in the center, feathery fingers steepled against its chin. Then again, that seems to be how this whole system works.

She's _pretty sure_ she shouldn't have to file a grievance just to get some form of retribution for a man who kidnapped her and planned to murder her for profit, _and_ openly fired on an Aegis ship.

And shot Caine out to space, too, but apparently that was within his rights as contract-holder.

Hell, it's not even that clear with Balem. _His_ things – his estate and his business and whatever else has been accumulated over his unnaturally long lifespan – are equally tied up in legal red tape, and he's not even – alive to defend himself anymore. It's taken nearly as long for an _auction_ to be decided on as it did for her to rope Titus into this brief appearance.

At least it proved what she already suspected. This system is 100% screwed-up beyond reason.

The podium '_pings_' softly when she lays her arm across it, as she was instructed to during _practice_. There's no obvious interface, but the reason becomes clearer when her seal brightens, and the whole surface of it shifts from dark wood to a milky white.

The splice fixes its gaze on her.

"Jupiter Jones," it intones with a voice like gravel through a blender. "Do you agree to pursue recompense for the submitted grievances?"

Words appear on the surface and begin to scroll, faster and faster. Sending in fleets of hired advocates does have some perks, like skipping over actually having to _review_ any of these _grievances_. She thinks she recognizes bits and pieces as the words flicker out of sight.

_She agrees not to seek undue punishment against the courts if the case should go in Titus' favor_ (though what constitutes as "undue" is not specified)_; she agrees to the possibility of a counter-case whether or not she wins; she agrees that the case might not come to fruition if one or more party is unable to expand their life to last until the conclusion_

Jupiter went over all this beforehand, so she drags her gaze away from the terms, as if refusing to bother with them. Acting regal usually involves a lot more _patronization_ than she likes, but she'd rather that than give him something honest to manipulate.

The judge, all in soft, muted colors but for the shock of orange around its eyes and a few dark feathers on the sides, is solemn as it continues to wait.

"I do," she says, and glances over at Titus. He merely smiles wanly, but there's still a twinge of satisfaction. She's not agreeing to a marriage, she's pressing charges, and this is evening the playing field.

"Titus Abrasax." The splice shifts to regard him. "Do you understand these accusations?"

"I do."

"Then," it says, with a nod to both of them, "you may proceed. You will be contacted with further developments."

Another soft tone - is everything here so musical? - and the podium goes dark.

That's it? All that preparation, and that's it?

She's stuck someone between relief and disappointment, and so she only nods, once, in a numb motion that she hopes comes off as regal.

Jupiter is halfway to the door again when she hears footsteps, and she's closer still when they're too near to ignore.

She had hoped Titus would head off in the opposite direction - just because she didn't see another door didn't mean there wasn't one. But no, he's drawn near, and is looking to draw her attention as well, made all the more obvious when he places a hand delicately on the door.

A glance is all he gets from her.

"Jupiter," he says, and she pushes back the urge to scrunch up her face at the way it fits in his mouth, "I hope you won't fault me _too_ much for that dreadful business."

Her first instinct is to snarl something like "_bite me"_ at him, but he wants that kind of anger, doesn't he? So she straightens a little and says, as evenly as she can, "of course not. Only as much as you deserve."

"I would ask nothing else."

Titus removes his hand and gives a little flourish that she hasn't quite mastered yet, and the doors part.

As they do, his eyes skip behind her, and she follows his gaze to – Famulus, is her name? His assistant, or advisor, or fling, Jupiter doesn't know which, is waiting with folded arms, and immaculately dressed in some kind of flowing bronze material.

He inclines his head. "Jupiter." And off he goes.

What she wouldn't give to find Caine waiting for her like that, but she _did_ tell him not to. She's only done with _one_ Abrasax sibling today.

Jupiter presses a thumb between her eyes where she can feel a headache begin to build.

At least Kalique is kinder in her manipulations.


	3. Chapter 3

There is always the matter of the will – or the _wills_, rather. What she's been left, and what she will leave, and figuring it out is all the more pressing now that she's involved Kalique.

Technically, there's only some parts of Seraphi's will that require interpreting. As it's been _years_ since her death, much of what was intended for Jupiter has been spread out among her children – like Earth.

So she's been left – well, money, first of all. That's the easiest to sort out, since it was just set aside. Jupiter's only just learning the rates of exchange, but it's enough to last a lifetime. Many lifetimes.

Planets. More than a dozen, some seeded long before Earth, some seeded long after. One of the planets, Jastea, is actually scheduled for harvesting in the next decade. She's… put that on hold.

Various odds and ends. A reportedly-favorite portrait, _furniture_ of all things, jewelry and crowns. She doesn't even recognize the names of half of what makes up the list.

A ship. This ship, actually, which is probably why she's able to explore the rooms and corridors and take it all in – she gets the impression that most Entitled wouldn't take kindly to some grubby newcomer wandering in and out of rooms, touching the walls to see what they're made of and taking in everything with wide-eyed stares.

It's… well. There's not a flaw she can find in it, though admittedly she might not know one if it stared her in the eye, but it makes her skin prickle to walk here.

Of course, the ship did pass to Balem after Seraphi's death, so that might be why.

It still feels like the equivalent of a horror movie mansion. Too large and too old and too much of a bad idea. She just might look into purchasing her own ship to avoid it. Something smaller.

Before she knew exactly what she'd be getting from the siblings – getting back, in a way – she'd discussed the idea of buying a ship and been assured she could afford a fleet of decently-sized ships without denting her inheritance. She's not sure if she's ridiculously wealthy or if ships are ridiculously cheap, but the idea still unsettles her. It's blood money, after all.

She's also not sure what's _normally _included in inheritances, let alone for inheritances meant for a reincarnated version of yourself, but it's hard to miss one glaring absence – there is not a drop of RegeneX, nor any knock-off brand.

Titus is, of course, a particularly skilled liar, but still she wonders if there wasn't a grain of truth in what he said. _Did_ Seraphi sympathize, at some point?

There's nothing personal about the will, no notes set aside for her, no advice, no way for her to know what Seraphi imagined and expected of her. Still, everyone seems to look at Jupiter and see Seraphi 2.0 – newer, emptier, easy to shape and manipulate.

There's no first impressions anymore, and in a way, Jupiter resents her. What is she to make of this women?

Her fingers glide over something she hadn't noticed before, and it clinks as it skitters a few inches away.

Metallic, but dark enough to almost blend in with the dark, glossy surface it was resting on and elliptical, fitting easily into her palm.

There's a smooth inner core, suspended in the center of an overlaid twisting, glided pattern that seems mazelike, with empty spaces between each line.

In the center is a groove, an indentation that her thumb slides snugly against that looks like it could pop the whole thing apart if she pressed hard enough. Then again, 'hard enough' might also snap off the design. It doesn't look like anything meant to carry something, either.

Huh.

How is she supposed to interpret Seraphi when she can't even figure out whether Seraphi's little… _thing_ is a toy or decoration or something functional?

…well. Seraphi's or Balem's, and, the more she thinks about it, it's more likely Balem's; he's certainly had the ship longer.

She sets it down, and moves on. It seems too delicate to hold.

Maybe _everyone_ thinks the harvesting is normal. Maybe she shouldn't dwell on how long Seraphi must have been harvesting planets, and she should just think it's impressive that Seraphi challenged the system at all.

Maybe if she was born in Seraphi's position she'd be all aboard the human-harvesting train, too – although that thought creates a knot of unsettled feelings in her stomach.

She _wasn't_ born into it. Which means, even if she has no clue how to do it, she's gotta _fix_ this whole thing, mess that it is.

The reliance on RegeneX goes deeper than she'd like.

If it was just a way for _Entitleds_ to attain immortality – fine. Shut it all down. Be done with it. But it's a healing spray, a cure to make otherwise-terminal diseases manageable, raising life _expectancies_ across the board even when not directly used to _extend_ a life.

Cutting it off entirely, suddenly, would be… well. She'd be causing more deaths.

She needs a balance. Something to take its place well enough _without_ grinding humans up for immortality goo.

Is that possible? Maybe not in her lifetime, but in anyone's? Nothing short of a miracle is going to solve her problem _without_ Kalique, it seems, and even then, it... does seem like it will take a while. A _long_ while, from what she's learned.

If Seraphi had never involved Jupiter in this, she wouldn't have to – devote herself to this thing she knows nothing about. Doesn't even really have a place to start. Doesn't understand it, doesn't understand what needs to be done. She wouldn't have to deal with assassins and balancing lies against truth for the sake of the _greater good._

And yet.

Without Seraphi – if she hadn't known – Earth would be harvested a few years down the road, and she'd still be scrubbing toilets.

Well, she's doing that anyway, but that's different. Now she knows that's not all there is for her.

And, well. Jupiter may yet die in ignominy, but the Earth will never be touched. She'll make sure of that.

Which brings her to the hard part – figuring out how to do that.

She's made certain arrangements. Clumsy, certainly, but if she should be murdered by the morning, she won't leave anyone scrambling to figure out what to do about Earth.

The majority goes to family – _her_ family, not Seraphi's – but if she's killed anytime soon, she doesn't want make an enemy for them out of the only remaining Abrasax that hasn't betrayed or planned to murder her.

So. Kalique has been… written in. It's not a decisions she takes lightly, nor is it one she's sure she won't regret.

But Kalique may still yet find a way to solve this problem, if it benefits her enough.

"_Do you think," Jupiter blurted, "There's a way to – get rid of RegeneX? Or replace it or, or – something. Has it ever been _tried_?" Caine and Stinger are, while eager to help and teach her, are __no historians, and Kalique has lived much longer than them._

_Kalique raised immaculately-styled eyebrows and pauses, something very much like a tea cup raised halfway to her mouth, then lowers it. "Well, of course there have. You remember what I told you of the near-extinction event?"_

Hard to forget. The clinical tone of the history sheaves that elucidated on the situation hardly made the horror any lesser. Cloning, she's learned, is far from the simple solution she'd imagined. Not enough genetic variation means it's an imprecise science, and over-reliance on only specific genetic codes means that some particularly… _persistent _viruses can adapt to them and wipe them out in vast numbers.

_And_ the DNA itself wears away each time; copies of copies of copies may look young, but they have less time, the farther down the line it goes.

_A sip. "_Well_. This was nothing so dramatic, of course, and the vast majority of attempts failed entirely, but those that worked to varying degrees of success were-" At Jupiter's noise of interest, Kalique's mouth curled up, and she hooks her head minutely. "You'll have to find details elsewhere, I'm afraid. I'm far from an expert on the matter. All that did work had such small audiences or required such high levels of material that it was completely financially inadvisable. And..."_

_Kalique's mouth evens out, and there's a note of something like pity in her expression. "Others worked… temporarily. As I've said, I am not well-versed in this history, and I never saw the experiments, but I'm told the results were quite gruesome. Something evidently went wrong along the way – the genetic transfer did not set permanently. I can find you something with more information, if you'd like."_

_And Jupiter nodded._

It was, indeed, _gruesome_. Like transplants rejecting, something caused their bodies to suffer a rejection of the replace cells. Skin sloughed off, organs shut down. One _helpful_ document included a diagram of the damage.

So. Kalique knows far more than Jupiter does, that's for sure, but she still needs _more. _

Jupiter has a better idea of where to start – right now it looks like her best bet is just to throw money at hired researchers, until she can figure out where to focus on, but that's the thing. There are such broad possibilities, she can't possibly cover them all at once, and if they focus on the wrong area… well, she might not even know for _years._ Decades, maybe.

This whole thing is headache inducing.

The next room has the dregs of a RegeneX bath clinging to the pool set in the center. It's smaller and simpler than others she's seen; the controls are… in adjacent rooms, maybe? Funny how aesthetically pleasing something like this can look when it holds the remains of hundreds.

Thankfully, a more welcoming distraction interrupts that thought.

"_Jupiter_."

Kalique, moving towards her in a rush of softly-perfumed air. She clasps her hands over both Jupiter's arms, smiling warmly.

A spiked splice follows, pausing at the doorway and then slowly turning back. Not with Kalique, not with Jupiter, and not _truly_ with Balem, although assigned to make sure the division of the ship's contents goes exactly as planned, they are the closest to a neutral party Jupiter's seen in days.

"You've taken care of…" Jupiter's still not entirely sure what Kalique's supposed to take from the ship, or what she's been given, but the question tugs at her anyway. It's polite, at least. "…everything, no problems?"

Kalique waves a hand behind herself demonstratively. "Most has already been split into mine, yours, and all that is to be _auctioned."_

"Titus?"

Kalique presses a hand to her mouth, the sheer material connected to her fingers shifting with the motion. "Oh, I'm afraid there's nothing for him here. In fact, I daresay my poor brother has – hardly anything at all left to him."

Jupiter nods slowly, her curiosity kindling, but squashed down. That's another can of worms. A fine question from someone else, maybe, someone not currently holding him on trial.

"But it isn't… like that, for you?" She doesn't think Kalique would be in such high-spirits if she wasn't managing to benefit in _some _way.

A smile. "No. Balem was seldom open with his affection, it's true, but it has always been easier with us. Well, I suppose – was." Her expression becomes softer and she seems to look through Jupiter, rather than at. "Stubborn, as well. Would rather put all he owns to sale to benefit an unlikely heir rather than seem too _fond _of us. What a shame."

Jupiter nods. Being here, hearing Kalique talk about her 'brother dear' doesn't ease the guilt, misplaced though it may be. Must be – weird, for Kalique as someone who cared for him, to have to interpret his actions after his death.

Another moment, and then Kalique draws in a breath, and her attention no longer seems turned inward.

"I _was_ involved in some rather lengthy negotiations, so I must say, I was glad for once to leave Cerise." She smiles at Jupiter conspiratorially. Right, Kalique's gardens. Can they be called gardens when it's planet-wide? "It _is_ unexpected but oh, Jupiter, you really must see it when this is all over."

As if _this _will ever be over – but Kalique probably means just figuring out Balem's will.

"It sounds – lovely." Jupiter closes her eyes, a little overwhelmed by everything still. "I'll visit you on Cerise soon – promise."

There's a glimmer in Kalique's eyes, a pleased pull to her lips, and yet Jupiter does not find it nearly as ominous as she, perhaps, should. Kalique's manipulations are subtle and probably more dangerous for it, but Jupiter is so _tired _of being ever-wary.

Kalique tilts her head. "Everything is as well as ever? You haven't encountered any _further _problems, have you? You can always come to me if you have."

Jupiter lets out a slow breath. "Y—n—I'm, uh, still sorting everything out." Her hands swing at her sides for a moment, then clasp in from of her when she recognizes the nervous gesture. "I know. Thank you, Kalique. I appreciate your help."

Kalique must recognize what's left unsaid, because she smiles, not unkindly. "I'll leave you to it." She reaches to squeeze Jupiter's hands in her own for one short moment. "I _am_ looking forward to your visit."

And there she goes, sweeping from the room that seems so much smaller now.

In Kalique's absence, Jupiter's eyes track the room slowly. The viewing wall, so common to those outer rooms on the upper levels. Letting in the starlight.

The faint patterns on the walls, sparse and subtle and swirling.

The pool.

She walks towards it, slowly. Lowers herself, first kneeling near the edge, then further so that she's cross-legged before it.

The water glows, faintly.

Whether that's some inherent nature of the stuff, or a trick of the starlight through the window, she doesn't know.

She wonders what it feels like.

She considers trying it, just dipping in a finger so she knows. The gentle thrumming of the ship sends it cascading over itself at the edges, a slow continuous rock around the pool_, _and thought it seems to flow as easily as water would, she imagines it has a gooey, viscous feel to it. The clinging weight of those who died for it.

She wonders if wondering won't be enough for her, one day, if she would grow old and grey and discontent and think that _just one dip cannot hurt, just once for all the good she's doing_.

If she'll rationalize it away.

If she'll grow hungry for eternity.

She's young, now, and barring some residual soreness from the _fights_, as able as she's ever been. Pretty, if she's allowed that vanity. She may not always be. That lure must be enough, for some.

Jupiter turns away, and leaves the waters untouched.


	4. Chapter 4

One of the weirdest things about suddenly becoming space royalty is the transport.

The responsibilities still seem distant and fantastical, and the reality of it still hasn't sunk in completely, and yet speeding across galaxies has suddenly become as possible as taking a bus downtown. Cleaner and less crowded, too.

It's like adding one more thing to her routine: wake up, drink more coffee than could ever be recommended, clean houses, and zip to somewhere lightyears away.

One moment she's trying to parse rapid-fire jargon with a collection of humans, splices, and aliens alike, and the next they've dispersed, and she's sped home and settled in at home, flicking through the papers pressed into her hands by the members of her 'council.'

The meeting really did go better than she'd expected – she thinks. Maybe.

It's hard to be completely sure – there's so many new legal and cultural expectations intermixed with legal jargon, none of which she has any experience with.

She mostly just sat in and had suggestions tossed around her, occasionally at her, and even more occasionally offered one back.

Apparently, it's possible for those within the infrastructureto push for certain outcomes, certain punishments. It's _supposed_ to be nothing more than suggestions, but it still seems… corrupt? Seems to take the basis of fairness out of it, anyway, and who knows what Titus is trying.

Ideas were bounced back and forth, more and less severe, until one – a fish-like splice with some sort of complicated oxygenation device fixed over its gills that managed to look nothing more like a thin set of headphones – haltingly suggested that Titus might be executed if the evidence is severe enough. If she supports the idea enough.

'_Possibly – probably wouldn't be – that is if her majesty wished to pursue the possibility –' _

And – well. Jupiter was quick to shut that one down, much to the apparent relief of the rest. (She thinks, not for the first time, that there _really should _be laws limiting members of the 'elite, ruling class.' 'Shooting the messenger' should not be _nearly_ as easy as it seems to be for most Entitleds.)

She's already been the death of one sibling. She certainly holds no fondness for Titus, but as long as it can be avoided, she's not going to advocate for something like _that_. She wants some sort of justice, and mostly, she wants to make sure he isn't going to try to muck up her plans to find a substitute.

She _is_ pretty sure that she shouldn't bother much with involving him, though, even looking past the whole 'lying about believing in his mother's stance on RegeneX and planning to murder her' part.

Kalique had laughed when Jupiter asked if Titus was likely to be any help. She was – and is – sure that nothing good could come out of trying, but she wanted – validation?

Which, although she knows she should be more wary of how much she trusts Kalique's information, she got.

Kalique's mirth was delicate enough to be polite, but obvious enough to get the point across. "Not likely," she had said. "Neither I nor Titus were ever particularly interested in that part of the business. I suspect Famulus oversaw more of it than he did, in these recent years. Balem – well. Balem took to it far more completely. He was a natural."

Which is fine with Jupiter. She'd prefer to keep all further _mingling_ with Titus to a minimum.

In the end, though, she didn't learn much of anything she didn't know before. All that came from it are the _possibilities_, the _likelihoods_, all neatly summarized in the packet of papers before her.

Understandable and baffling terms both arc across the sheets, scoring _percent of evidence discarded, weighed, measured, _tracking _documents debated and resolved, context analyzed_, even a handy little section that she _thinks_ is meant to tell her _number of case reviewers favoring her side_ and the estimated odds that it will go in her favor.

It does not translate as well to paper and ink, as where the figures had been twisting and dancing on the screen, they lie still and flat and a little squashed.

Still, she's made it clear that she prefers it this way, since there's no way she's going to be taking obvious alien tech into her family's home. The banged-up laptop Caine's carrying around has been modified beyond all reason, but at least it _looks_ normal. Anything more than that – how would she ever explain it?

And she _would_ need to explain it.

There's not a lot of privacy in a house split among 10 people. Not much quiet, either. The running chatter is a more comforting backdrop for their conversation than the strange noises of a ship or the eerie silence, and it's nice to have somewhere familiar to kick her shoes off and settlein. Makes her feel like this isn't some _complete_ fantasy.

Not that she's ever gone over legal jargon while a lycantant splice perches on the end of her bed and diligently sorts through the new information.

This thought nets Caine another glance.

Caine keeps scratching at the elastic of the beanie where it presses against his ears. There is apparently fancier technology available to help splices with more nonhuman traits blend in, but he has an easier time of it.

He keeps going a little stiff whenever a relative wanders in – or Mikka or Moltka dart inside, seeking refuge in their imaginary battles, and seriously, the marshmallow guns are cool and all, but Aunt Irina is probably going to be a little peeved if they use up the last of the bag.

He's already met them all before, and they're hardly doing anything inappropriate, but the theoretical impropriety of the situation still seems to make him a little tense.

Jupiter leans over to gently tap his forehead in lieu of trying to ruffle his hair through the beanie, and she motions to her own head, tracing an invisible line that matches where the beanie rests.

"I like it," she says. "It's a good look. Suits you."

He ducks his head, and she catches a decidedly pleased look on his face before he turns away.

It still feels like she's getting the abridged version of everything and not understanding it even then, which makes her feel sort of small and childish and like she's got no say at all – and Titus has been at his game longer than she has, knows what he's doing, holds more sway – and yet…

She swings her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Here, c'mon," she beckons. "How do you feel about a couple laps around the city? I really think I can beat your record this time."


	5. Chapter 5

Weeks of waiting for a development gnaws at her patience.

Any development, really, because honestly why would they ever say there's _going _to be news soon and then go silent for upwards of a month? There's no timeline, just a growing sense of anxiousness and impatience.

Sure, she knows what _could_ happen. Despite everything, it's remarkably difficult – and time-consuming – to persuade a jury that he plotted to murder her for Seraphi's inheritance, easier to prove he 'kidnapped' her without delivering her to where she instructed him, and easier still to prove that he fired on an Aegis ship. It has, in the end, very little to do with he, at least as far as the part that's edging on a verdict.

Relatively inconsequential, too, so – house arrest, or the equivalent of it, in addition to... something. Something undecided, some punishment likely categorized as 'minor.' That _something_, and the uncertainty of it all, is what gets to her.

But it can't _get_ to her enough to justify neglecting all her other responsibilities, and after so long spent just waiting and growing steadily unhappier, she doesn't have much of an excuse to put off visiting Kalique.

So even the adrenaline of an earlier, impromptu flight is draining from her, leaving her brittle and restless.

And at least she's almost in the loop about this. A heads-up once a decision has been finalized is better than nothing.

Her mood _is _further helped by the fact that Caine is a little off ahead. Getting the same tour with – Malidictes, is the name? – as she's getting from Kalique, and only barely in her sight, but at least not back on Earth or awaiting her return on the ship.

Still, she's tense. Jupiter wants honesty, and _honestly_, she doesn't expect to see a scrap of that unless and until they manage to catch up with Caine, and _that_ seems less likely with Kalique's slow, measured stride.

She focuses on everything _but_ the obvious and she listens as Kalique, strolling at her side, informs Jupiter of what basically amounts to garden trivia and indicates some point of interest or another with graceful, spiraling hand motions.

Rare flowers, ones with meaningful names, poisonous and psychotropic varieties – she seems to delight in her cultivation, though Jupiter can't imagine she does more than that – she doesn't seem the sort to take a hands-on approach, nor would it be particularly practical.

But whatever Kalique's exact involvement in Cerise's appearance, it is beautiful.

It's hard not to think of everything in familiar terms – she knows that can't be crickets she hears, and yet the soft trill humming at the edge of her mind is so easily relegated as the cadence of crickets.

The greenery grows thick and almost wild, but the path is carefully cultivated; vegetation arcs neatly over Jupiter's head, uniform in the space they leave above the walking path. Still, it's remarkably varied.

Here, a flower so large it droops heavy with the weight of it, trailing pollen behind its lazy bobs; there, a series of thin, reedy stalks supporting blossoms that taper into delicate points at the ends.

Whenever her eyes linger long enough on one, Kalique offers up names: Avvine. Danum. Corden. Lissen. Listrom. Threaded ivy, springroot, spotted iffea, waterlock.

Hard to get and harder to take root in this climate but oh, Kalique wanted it and Kalique got it.

It takes a moment of silence following the last of these observations before Kalique turns to her and simply asks, "and the trial?"

Jupiter groans, and the corners of Kalique's mouth quirk up.

"I swear," she says, "it is never going to end."

"Oh, yes, I imagine it does seem that way. There _are_ quite a few standing disputes spanning back millennia."

This is likely meant to be funny – light, at least, but Jupiter runs a hand through her hair and resists the urge to sigh. Time is one thing she doesn't have. "I'm surprised. I wouldn't think it would be so unclear, and the way it looks like it'll turn out seems… tame." And then she realizes how that must sound, and backtracks. "Not – that I wanted anything, uh, actually bad to happen to him, just…" He tried to kill her and he's a dick? "…it was kind of a bad move."

"Well, I'm certainly glad you feel that way; I doubt you would be able to seek further recompense to this degree of success." Kalique's gaze is almost passive, skipping over their surroundings, but still flickering sharply back to Jupiter in her pauses.

"Yeah." And then she really does sigh. "Lucky."

Another pause, and then, "detainment, huh? House arrest. "

Kalique's smile blooms. "Not as applicable when the 'house' in question can traverse galaxies – but yes, essentially. Not quite the end you wanted–" Here she cants her head in mild deference to the idea that she does not know for sure what Jupiter wants. "—but you must admit, it all has gone rather well for your first time."

There's an edge to Jupiter's voice, weary but slightly amused, when she asks, "do first trials normally go worse?"

"Oh, yes. Remarkably so. Parties disappear, feuds are instigated, sabotage, and oh, the level of property damage is unbelievable. All manner of unsavory conduct, really. There are few true winners there. As it is, yours has gone remarkably well. Not only one penalty, but another as well."

She sort of doubts Kalique would be so blasé if it was at all likely that something worse would happen to Titus, and she shakes her head faintly. "Right," says Jupiter. "The other thing." And like that, she's fallen back into her thoughts.

"_Keep me sane," _she'd muttered to Caine before they'd disembarked, and she thinks if she called out to him, he'd fall back to match pace with her, social protocols be damned.

She can't – shouldn't, really – ask that of him, not without reason. Something else, then.

So while she is, ostensibly, speaking to Kalique when she breaks the silence, she knows he'll hear her. _That_ thought is comforting, at least.

"This woman used me to prove her husband was cheating on her, once," she says suddenly.

Jupiter can see Kalique angle a curious look in her direction from her peripheral, and she keeps going. "Told me to show up at a certain time on a certain day, said she works from home and I should be quiet, gave me a key and told me which rooms to clean… turns out her husband was the one who was supposed to be working from home."

It's funnier looking back, though not so much as it happened. If she's lucky, that's how most of this will be later. "He was sleeping with a girlfriend while she was out, which I had the _joy_ of seeing. Apparently I was cheaper than hiring a detective. Anyway, she got a witness like she wanted, and I… got stiffed on the day's work and had the joy of being chased out of the house by a screaming, mostly-nude man."

"I just…" Caine seems amused up ahead, if the faint noise and the tilt of his head from up ahead is anything to go by, but she still feels faintly embarrassed as she winds down, like it's at once deeply revealing and wholly inconsequential. To Kalique, it must be. "...that was pretty much the biggest things that happened to me, before all this." A short laugh. "Seems pretty trivial now, huh? That was the biggest thing I had to deal with, and now… well, it puts it into perspective. There's… a lot more to worry about now."

Kalique seems bothered by something. She pauses abruptly and turns aside. "Jupiter – there is something you should know."

On cue, Jupiter's insides twist. If there's been anything good following those words, she's never seen it.

"Now, I didn't want you to hear it from someone else, but you're right, and you do have more to preoccupy yourself with—"

Jupiter's mind concocts rapid-fire worst case scenario. Someone hurt, something ruined, and oh, hell, anything to do with the harvesting.

"Balem is alive."

And her stomach drops out. Her head swims, just long enough to miss the next few words.

"-been recuperating on Eigrillon in the interim."

Jupiter draws in a sharp breath. It catches in her throat, curling sickly, and when she remembers how to speak again, her words stick. "He's – _where_?" How close is that to her? Has he been – spying, monitoring without her knowing? And – she recognizes that name enough that it's familiar. Isn't it one of Kalique's?

And then, even more pressing, "how long have you known?"

Kalique's gaze seems troubled, but that doesn't take the coldness out of her response of, "for some time now." As if 'troubled' is enough, as if it's nothing to have the man who tried to kill her recuperating somewhere Kalique just _happens_ to own, said just as casual as if he was only borrowing a spare bedroom.

Caine has looped back, thankfully, and for a moment he sort of just… hovers, until she steps back towards him, and then he stands solid. Maybe he doesn't know how to take the news, either, but still. Support.

"I know he acted rashly, but please, try to understand." Kalique lays a hand on her arm, bowing a little to meet Jupiter's gaze. "He is my brother."

She does understand, to a point. A small point. Even at the end, even after what he did, she couldn't bring herself to kill him. She put down the pipe; she had to let the fall do it. If she had that kind of history they have, could she let him suffer?

No; at least, it's not _Kalique_ that she blames.

Still, she chokes out, "is that why – did you plant hints of – of Balem being able to help on purpose?" Because she'd thought that the references were those of someone reminiscing on a lost sibling, but if he's alive and she knew it, those conversations take another spin. Harder to dwell only on the positive traits when the person is alive and well and still fully able to flaunt all the other negative traits.

And then her hands raise and she shakes her head sharply. "Don't answer that." She doesn't want to know what she would do if she was lied to. She doesn't know what she would do with honesty.

She screws her eyes shut, breathes deep. Opens her eyes, straightens her spine. "I – thank you, for. Telling me."

She doesn't feel grateful. She feels kept at arm's length. Or further, much further. Talked down to and turned around.

There's so much more that Kalique says without saying, and so much more that Jupiter now needs to reexamine and rediscover, and if that's the case, she's starting now. No more pleasant flower talk, she wants something familiar and safe.

"I think that's all the time I have to spare."

"Of course." Kalique interlaces her fingers at her waist, but for a moment, all Jupiter can think of is steepled hands.


	6. Chapter 6

Kalique was right.

When the transmission comes in, she's trying to figure out how to change her inheritance money into something she can use on earth – because of _course_ there isn't a currency exchange system already in place, not with a planet scheduled to be harvested.

Jupiter can probably assign someone else to do it somehow – hire someone specifically for that, maybe, or just delegate? – but she isn't certain how that process would go, so she refrains. Take something she's inherited and pawn it here, then? Pawn it in another area, another city, somewhere across the globe so they don't come looking for her if or when they find out she's sold them jewelry made from something you can't find on Earth?

She's going over the logistics of it when the earpiece pings.

Apparently you _know_ who's on the other end, somehow, if you get the subdermal implant but, well. She's opted for the lower-tech option, currently, so she runs a finger along her temporal bone until she finds the _thing, _the_ node_, behind her ear, and hopes that the call's been screened already.

She's lucky enough that it is – and, she realizes as the avian splice blinks into view, lucky that half the family is out and the rest are preoccupied with various distractions downstairs.

She'll get hell for it if she's caught, but it's hard to explain _this_ away, so her eyes dart from the now-occupied space to the door and back again, and then she quietly closes and locks the bedroom door.

She doesn't know them personally from any previous encounters, but she's familiar enough with the clothing styles of those in the courtrooms and councils to place them as someone in the judicial system, and the long fingers pressed delicately against each other - _seriously_, is the steepling a space thing? – cements that in her mind.

They are quiet for long enough that she wonders if her movement was somehow rude. "Uh—"

"Jupiter Jones." Oh, alright. Great. "The flagged case has been settled. Recompense will be measured."

She waits for elaboration, but this only brings another long pause. "And…?" She prompts.

"And further details may be viewed once the proper requests have been submitted."

And, okay, that's fair. She's not happy about it, but it's fair; those _were_ technically grievances against the Aegis, not her.

"Is… that all?" She's not certain if she's expected to speak between these statements to avoid getting another uncomfortable moment of silence, but she's willing to try it.

"The matter of your detainment has been settled." She shifts from her position on the bed, drawing herself up to sit straighter. "It has been decided that due to these inconveniences—" Jupiter mouths the word to herself. "—the party in question will, in addition to an extended sentence of monitored mobility—" The house arrest, she'd guess. "—be assisting you directly, as a courtesy to your status as a newly realized recurrence. It is hoped that this measure will ease your transition, and thus offset said inconveniences to your satisfaction. "

Jupiter blinks. She blinks again. Her mouth twists as she begins the attempt of articulating the inarticulate.

They speak, and she does not have the chance to. "Do you accept this?"

"I –" She squeezes her eyes shut and cocks her head and fights the bitter laugh that bubbles up her throat. "I don't really _approve_ of the plan to have me – _babysat_ by a man who planned to murder me for inheritance."

They remain undisturbed by this news. "This court cannot allow unresolved cases to influence current rulings; do you accept that this has been decided?"

The corner of her mouth flags down sharply. "Yes."

"Good."

And the transmission ends.

That's… well. She moves as if her limbs are molasses, unlocking the door and allowing it to open an inch or so only to slump back onto the bed.

She lets out a slow breath as she slides down against the wall, letting her head roll back to the stare at the ceiling.

So she's stuck with him.

Or… she could say she no longer needs his 'guidance,' but then he's just going to be punished with a meaningless restriction.

Maybe he _would_ cause less trouble for her if there was someone keeping an eye on him, and she can probably find a way to turn this into something that at least takes up time he might devote to that sort of thing, but she _really_ doesn't feel satisfied with this outcome.

So Kalique is, of course, right.

Even if Titus doesn't attempt to muck up her attempts – and honestly, that's hoping too much – she can't learn from him, and she certainly can't rely on him.

He is just as involved in the actual creation of RegeneX as Kalique, and both cannot help in the technical creation of a substitute for just this reason.

Where else can she go? To someone else in the business? Sure, and she would be able to somehow cut through their manipulations with her fabulous bargaining chip of exactly nothing. What's money going to do if the venture would lose them money, if there is no guarantee of even long-term success? And she has nothing to offer them but money, does she?

At least there is a tentative alliance with Kalique that has the possibility of lasting as long as long as Kalique feels she can gain something from Jupiter. Relations would be all the more tentative if Jupiter relied on a rival.

So. Absurdly, she thinks – if Kalique was right about this, could she be right about the rest? Could Balem—

Ha.

Oh, she could go to Balem about this, sure. If she could only swallow back the mess of anger and disgust, and if he could ever, _ever_ give even a hint that he could possibly harbor anything but malice and… other unpleasantness towards her.

Just a _tiny_ roadblock.

She wouldn't even think about approaching him without something iron-clad, anyway, something with no possible way to be exploited for loopholes.

Which is…

She scoots up from her position on the bed, pressing her fingers to her lips as she thinks.

Which is possible, actually.

If it's under (her) contract, if she doesn't have to interact with him personally much, or _ever_, then she can keep looking for a less murderous and more reliable way to end her problems.

But does she have anything to offer? And is this even an idea with merit, or is she focusing on in in desperation, or being led to it, or, or -

Like a sign, the door downstairs slams.

Granted, a mundane one – it's been several hours since her mother left, and so it stands to reason that she'd be coming home around this time. Her mother's heavy steps sound as she ascends the stairs, and as she sets her purse on the nightstand, she raises a brow minutely at the sight of Jupiter. "Daydreaming."

There's a curl of a smile, faint but just present enough to spot, and her tone is indicative of a relatively good mood. Well, that's encouraging, right?

So as her mother, likely going to wash up, turns back to the door, Jupiter calls out. "—wait."

This evokes stillness, and mild puzzlement. Jupiter beckons her to sit, and Aleksa does, albeit with a perturbed expression.

"Jupiter, what is going on?"

'_My family will think I'm insane._' She'd said it, and she meant it. So she needs a moment. Her eyes shift around the room until they land on her mother's purse. Long-strapped, and old enough to be present as far back as she can remember, it's familiar. She can remember the feel of it, the weight of it, and it's somehow comforting, being connected to all those memories. Jupiter breathes in deeply.

"Remember… the clinic? Well it was… more complicated than I told you. It was – I was –" There's no easy way to do this. She's going to jump right in. "—Caine's from space. And I'm –" And words fail. How to explain?

Her mother's pose shifts, a closing off, and the look in her eyes makes Jupiter feel like she's swallowed a live wire.

So she stands up, holds up a hand and takes a step back, planting her feet firmly. "It's not as crazy as it sounds, and I can prove it." She should be proud of herself later for the way her voice remains calm and even.

She pushes _up_. Down is easy, up is hard, and that's never felt more true than now, as she wills this to work, to convince. If the boots fail on her, she's going to –

Well.

They don't, so that's moot.

Hovering is nothing like the adrenaline-filled rush of swooping through the air, but it's all she needs to – well, to prove a point. And at least her mother's expression is no longer _only_ skeptical. She half-rises from the bed, brow furrowed and the fingers on her raised hand curling toward her palm. That's good enough.

Jupiter is nervous enough that she switches them off with less grace than usual, quickly enough that she falls the short distance with a _clunk_ and jolts a little trying to right herself in time.

"So," she says, heart beating fast with relief and nervousness both, "...I need your advice. But before that, let me… start from the beginning."


	7. Chapter 7

He's not hard to find. And, surprisingly, not hard to gain an audience with. Apparently, Kalique's involvement grants her considerable sway over these things – or else he's in a much more charitable mood, but somehow she doubts that.

She'd like to stride in, wave a hand imperiously to silence whatever protests spill from the lips of his advisors or bodyguards, but – doesn't, for a number of reasons. Not least of which is that he is alone, gaze turned halfway to the view beyond the glass.

Her breath catches. Talk about déjà vu.

"Balem."

He looks her over and seems unimpressed by what he sees. _His mistake_.

"I'm here to make a deal." He laughs softly, but she keeps going. "It's no secret how I feel about RegeneX. I want to find a substitute, and I want you to help me."

"Jupiter Jones." Hard to tell with that perpetual slow rasp of his, but she's willing to bet there's derision there. "This is a surprise."

"You have the resources I don't. You have the knowledge, the experience. I'm not _thrilled_ about it, but you're the person to go to." Even if she does have the growing urge to deck him.

"What could you possibly have to offer me?"

There he goes, tilting his head and looking down his nose at her, not even deigning to raise his voice above that harsh hush, but he's right. The business with Titus has made that clear.

All she can prove, without a doubt, is minor offenses – trespassing on her planet, kidnapping her family. Even the interference with the Aegis _could_ be spun as simple technical difficulties, or misunderstandings.

But she's thought about that. She's _counted_ on that.

And though her hands twitch with the desire to fold into fists, and the reality of what she's about to say makes her insides wrench, her voice is steady when she speaks.

"Your mother's ship."

There, a flicker of interest. A flicker of something else, too, that she doesn't care to examine right now.

She takes a step towards him, careful to make her movements seem fluid. Not easy, no – she's less vulnerable, now, but that doesn't make her powerful – but in control. _Make your point, but keep it simple, Jupe. You're a queen. You can do this._

"The ship, the possessions, everything the will would give to me. I want to find a substitute. One that won't rely on – harvesting humans. And if you can do that –" She draws in a breath and hopes that it just seems like a dramatic pause, and not like she feels as though she's running out of air the longer she stands here. "–you can have it all back."

A soft noise, almost a laugh, if there was any true mirth to it.

Balem places his head on his hand, delicately, two long fingers resting against his cheek. "And what," he says, gaze flicking over her and then beyond, dismissing her in one fluid motion, "makes you think that your _ship_ could persuade me to abandon my life's work?"

He acts as though he's ruler unquestioned, a king facing a pest, an annoyance. But oh, she can be so much more than a thorn in his side, now. She knows that.

Everything she loves is at risk, anyway. Assassins came for her when she expected to spend the rest of her life scrubbing toilets. Whether or not she moves to change the system, she can never dismiss the idea that she wouldn't be targeted. That her family wouldn't be targeted. So she might as well cause as much of a fuss as she can.

She doesn't hold many cards, but maybe she should just consider it impressive that she does have _one _potential advantage over someone like him.

Jupiter is capable, capable enough to sway him. She can feel it.

Her shoulders square.

"And Earth."

If Jupiter thought his gaze was disconcerting before, this is far worse. She has to dig her nails into her palms to keep from shuddering at the intensity.

When he speaks, there's enough soft, slow emphasis to make the words seem like complete phrases on their own. "Is that so?"

Pushing aside the sliver of unsettled fear to focus on the anger gives her a better handle on this. Her lips curl in distaste. "_After_ you find a substitute. A working one," she adds, "that can be made as widely as if I can't find one – I'll introduce Earth to the stars. You'll never get rid of the reminder that I beat you when they're spread throughout the galaxies."

"Enough." A flick of his hand.

She's pleased that she can manage to arch a brow in response. Small, but still an act of non-compliance.

"I can see that you intend to make a nuisance of yourself." He pauses, head slightly angled, and it is another moment before he speaks. "I will… consider it."

Which is more telling than he may know. "Agree or don't. But you'll never touch it if you don't."

And that's all she has to say to him. She maintains eye contact for a second more, head raised and eyes uncaring, and then turns away abruptly. She leaves on carefully measured strides, all too aware of his eyes on her, and it's only when she's out of sight does she begin to shake.


End file.
